


Let the Rain Fall

by Jackdaw816



Series: Magpie [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Astraphobia, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26362234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackdaw816/pseuds/Jackdaw816
Summary: Astraphobia(n): an irrational or disproportionate fear of thunder and lightning
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness/John Hart, Jack Harkness/John Hart/Ianto Jones, John Hart/Ianto Jones
Series: Magpie [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917400
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Let the Rain Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Finally writing another installment in this 'verse after like... seven months. Like the other one, this is fairly standalone. All you need to know is John's redeemed and dating Jack and Ianto
> 
> Anyway, this fic is inspired by the very annoying storm that was followed by two days of rain and I hate the sky so much rn

Ianto felt the storm before he heard it, static raising the hair on his arms like gooseflesh. But he was home and not out chasing Weevils through the mud like Jack, so he wasn’t too worried. He set aside his book and went to the window.

There was a flash of lightning, and Ianto started to count the seconds. He got to ten before the thunderclap, but his attention was instantly diverted by a scream from the bedroom. John? It had to be.

Ianto tore through the flat, cursing that he wasn’t armed. His flat wasn’t the most secure; someone could have gotten in. And this wouldn’t be the first time someone John had pissed off had come after him. It really was a problem.

He burst into the bedroom, flicking on the light, to find John, alone. He had scrambled back against the headboard, one hand gripping the wood. Ianto said his name, but he didn’t seem to notice. His breath was coming quick and shallow, his pupils blown wide.

“John?” Ianto said again, laying a careful hand on John’s shoulder. It was then that lightning flashed, and John flinched. His free hand grabbed onto Ianto’s arm and gripped hard.

“John, that hurts,” Ianto said, trying to pull back. Then thunder boomed again, and John dug in, nails breaking the skin. Ianto yelped and pulled his arm free. 

He took a step back and reached for his mobile with his other hand. He needed to call Owen or maybe Jack. Someone who would know what to do. Jack called the second Ianto opened his mobile to dial. He picked up instantly, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Can you hear the storm?” Jack asked without preamble.

“Yeah, and John’s having a-” Ianto paused, trying to find the words to best describe it.

“Panic attack,” Jack said firmly, although Ianto didn’t miss the worry tinging his words. “He used to have them during storms. I should have remembered sooner, but it’s been so long-” Jack trailed off, and the regret was almost palpable.

“What do I do?” Ianto asked, trying to stay calm. “I touched him, and he lashed out; I don’t know what to do.” There was another crack of thunder, and John shouted, burying his head in his hands.

“Shit,” Jack said softly. He broke off for a second and yelled at something, there was the blare of a car horn; he must have been driving. He came back, tone calm again. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ianto said, leaving out the blood welling up on his arm. “But what do I do?”

“Put the phone on speaker,” Jack instructed. “Let him hear me.” Ianto glanced nervously at John, still breathing quickly, still not entirely aware. He hated feeling useless, hating having the situation out of his control. But Jack seemed to know what he was doing; he could rely on Jack.

Ianto put the mobile on speaker and set it on the bed near him. Jack started to speak but not in English. It was lilting and rhythmic, and it took Ianto a second to realize that was intentional. He kept up his almost-singing, and it seemed to be working. John’s breathing was slowing, and his eyes flickered up toward Ianto.

“You back with us?” Jack asked, teasing in the way that meant he really cared. Lighting flashed again, but John didn’t do more than flinch.

“Yeah,” John said, his voice small. He was sweating, and he couldn’t seem to meet Ianto’s eyes. “Yeah, I’m back.” Thunder struck and John bit his lip. 

“Good,” Jack said, the word soaked in relief. “I’m five minutes away; I’ll see you soon.” He hung up with a click, and Ianto picked his mobile back up. John’s eyes followed the motion of Ianto’s arm.

“Did I do that?” John said. He sounded regretful; Ianto still wasn’t used to that. Ianto looked at his arm, the bloody nail marks blooming against his pale skin.

“Yes,” Ianto said quietly, reaching for a tissue. He blotted it against the wounds, then pulled it free with a slight hiss. With the blood gone, it really wasn’t that bad, but he’d probably want to dig for the disinfectant in the hall closet. The marks stood stark against his skin, but he could cover them with his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” John murmured, still not meeting Ianto’s eyes. “I wasn’t all there, but that’s never an excuse.”

“It’s alright,” Ianto said. He moved to close the curtains before there was another lightning strike. “I’ve had worse. At least you keep your nails clean.” John let out a little half-hearted laugh.

“Guess I’m better than a Weevil,” John said, voice a little louder. Ianto turned back and grinned. If he was bantering, then he really was back.

“You’re definitely better than a Weevil,” Ianto said, crossing back to the bed. He sat down, socked feet tucked criss-cross under him. John swiveled to face him and gently took Ianto’s hand.

“I’m usually fine,” John said, bitterly. “With storms, I mean. Can’t afford to lose my shit because the sky’s throwing a fit. But if I’m sleeping-” he trailed off and muttered something in another tongue. “I’m weak.”

“You’re not-” Ianto’s protest was cut off by the slam of the front door. It’d only been three minutes, but Ianto didn’t doubt Jack had sped to get home. Sure enough, seconds later, Jack burst into the room.

“You’re dripping on the carpet,” Ianto said with a sigh. Jack ignored Ianto’s quip, worried gaze cast on John.

“Are you okay?”

“You look like a drowned rat,” John pointed out helpfully. Jack sighed and shot a glance at Ianto.

“He’s okay,” Jack said, grinning.

“ _You_ won’t be okay if you don’t take off your boots,” Ianto said, half-meaning his threat. Jack looked down at his muddy boots and flinched.

“Sorry, Ianto,” Jack said. He walked backward, trying to land in his own muddy footprints. Ianto and John shared a glance and laughed. 

“So, what did he say to you?” Ianto asked. John raised an eyebrow. “Over the phone. It wasn’t in English.” 

“Ah,” John said softly. “It was something we worked out back in the Agency. Tricked me into calming down.”

“I’d translate it for you, but then I think John’d kill me,” Jack said, coming back into the room. His feet were bare, and he’d brought a towel to toss over the muddy patch. Ianto had to appreciate the effort.

“You know me so well,” John said with a smirk. A particularly loud clap of thunder echoed, and John flinched, gripping Ianto’s hand tight. Jack sat on the bed and added his hand to the pile.

“We’re here,” Jack murmured. “You’re safe.” John nodded, the movement minuscule. He wouldn’t say thank you. He wouldn’t admit that he needed help. But he’d accept it. And that was enough.


End file.
